


The temptation in your church

by meinposhbastard



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: (maybe next time), (sorry monsterfuckers), (though that’s an idea), (very light), Body kisses, Cuddles, Cunnilingus, Domestic Bliss, Established Relationship, F/F, Female-Presenting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Fluff, Gentle Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Idiots in Love, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, Not A Priestess AU You Fool!, Off-screen naga sex, Pampering, Poem Reading, all the kisses, hair kisses, the title is misleading, wrist kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:54:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27188936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meinposhbastard/pseuds/meinposhbastard
Summary: Life in the South Downs cottage after the not-pocalypse.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30
Collections: Ineffable Wives Exchange 2020





	The temptation in your church

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phantomhivemast3r](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomhivemast3r/gifts).



* * *

Crowley was reading from an anthology of lesbian poems across the ages. There were many more poetesses celebrating love and women that Crowley and Aziraphale had met during human history, gorgeous, incredibly smart women who had been lost to time and man. 

Her hands were lovely in Crowley’s hair, finding spots that made shivers run down her summer-warm body. The knee-long dress whispered softly across Crowley’s legs as she bent them up and then let them fall like lovers against the backrest of their sofa.

Crowley had tried to return the favour, carding her fingers through Aziraphale’s cloud-like locks of hair, but it had not had the intended results. It all boiled down to the reminder that they were different creatures. Where Crowley became putty in her angel’s hands when she ran her fingers in her hair, Aziraphale much preferred to be hugged from behind, feel her demon envelop her, ground her, support her.

“Oh, I got another good one,” Crowley said, readjusting the book on her chest, and began reading. 

Aziraphale hummed, the hand that was not deliciously scratching at her scalp every once in a while covering one bare knee with her palm. They lost themselves in poems, some scorching hot, others sad and melancholic, others still so full of hope and purity. 

“Here’s a funny one. It’s by Pat Parker titled [For Willyce](https://bookriot.com/lesbian-poetry/).”

_When i make love to you_

_i try_

_with each stroke of my tongue_

_to say i love you_

_to tease i love you_

_to hammer i love you_

_to melt i love you_

_ & your sounds drift down _

_oh god!_

_oh jesus!_

_and i think -_

_here it is, some dude’s_

_getting credit for what_

_a woman_

_has done,_

_again._

Crowley grinned and Aziraphale smiled fondly down at her, bending to press a soft kiss on her forehead. There was something almost intoxicating in seeing her wife enjoy herself. Intoxicating and so sensual...

***

“Fuck, angel, you—”

Aziraphale turned and leant back on the pillows, legs spreading slowly, an invitation to sin. 

“Whenever you wish to join me, my dear…” she trailed off on purpose, her gaze dark and hungry as she kept caressing Crowley’s body with her eyes alone.

In no time, she was between her thighs, nose and mouth pressed to her most intimate part and her angel hummed in approval, shifting to get more comfortable. Crowley tasted her through the white see-through lace that the angel put on on purpose, and she moaned softly, a series of thoughts involving the many things she could _do_ to and with her wife. She had to push back and lay her cheek on Aziraphale’s thigh to take a moment and calm herself otherwise she would come on the spot.

“We have all the time in the world, my darling girl,” Aziraphale said as if she could hear Crowley’s thoughts.

A series of crash-prone consonants ushered and she closed her eyes. It didn’t take long to feel fingers threading in her hair, short fingernails scratching lightly at her scalp. That was when an idea sprang forth.

“Angel,” she had to clear her throat and push herself on her forearms, hand still in her hair, “use me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want you to use my mouth. Do whatever you want, but I want you to use me to get yourself off.”

Aziraphale was still, and then a minute change on her face made the hunger all that more stark on her usually so amiable features.

“Are you sure?”

Crowley’s heart was in her throat, beating wildly, and she had to press her thighs close, feeling herself getting wetter by the second.

_“Yes.”_

The hand that had been still in her hair until then, grabbed a handful of it and Crowley whimpered and swallowed, even though her mouth was so dry one could light up kindle with the slightest of friction.

And then Aziraphale pressed Crowley’s head to her wet vulva. “Mouth at it until I come.”

Without hesitating, her lips began to trace the shape of her labia, her mound, the nub that made her thighs tense under Crowley’s palms, and then lower, her tongue pushing against the fabric where it would normally enter her angel. She went at it until Aziraphale tensed and came just like that.

Crowley was floating, drunk on her smell and her own building orgasm.

Aziraphale was breathing harshly, but her hand was still tight in her hair and Crowley relished the burn of it.

“Don’t come until I say so.” The command fell from her lips like dew drops from leaves. She hesitated a bit. “Is that all right with you, my dear?”

Crowley moaned softly, her neck stretched, head slightly back. “Yes,” she breathed out, incapable of producing more words.

“Would you do the honours?” Aziraphale asked coyly, her eyes glancing down at the ruined lacy knickers.

She didn’t even need to think about, her left hand already snapping them out of existence. Aziraphale bit her lower lip and then she guided Crowley’s head back between her thighs. Crowley was flat on her stomach, her arms embracing her thighs from underneath, her hands grabbing fistfuls of flesh and kneading them rhythmically.

“Oh, oh, darling, yes, just like that, mmm, yes.”

Crowley went all out on her angel, licking and sucking at her, unheeding of the obscene sounds she was making because Aziraphale was gasping and moaning so beautifully and her hand remained tight and strong and Crowley had no thought in her head but the need to satisfy her angel.

“Come with me, Crowley,” Aziraphale moaned when her thighs began spasming under Crowley’s hands.

She was already on the cusp of coming from the intoxicating smell of her angel and the lascivious moans and groans. Crowley couldn’t remember if she ever felt more powerful than in that moment, mouth pressed at the source of her angel’s divinity and humanity all rolled up in one, the fist in her hair making her scalp tingle.

Aziraphale’s thighs tightened around her head and she convulsed before Crowley’s tongue was full with her essence. Crowley groaned, licking and swallowing all of it while she furiously stroked her pert nipples against the cover, its seams proving to be just rough enough to provide the necessary friction that toppled her over.

The hand gentled and the thighs relaxed around her. They were both breathing harshly and Crowley felt so high she was not sure she was still on the earthly plane of existence.

“Did you come darling?”

Crowley could only nod dumbly and her angel beamed down at her before she used a bit of angelic strength to drag Crowley on top of her. A long session of soft kisses and snuggling followed and Crowley couldn’t return from her high no matter how much she tried— though truth to be told, she didn’t really try.

***

Aziraphale watched Crowley plant a mix of begonias in the flower beds she had prepared that morning. Their remodelled living room had glass doors that opened towards a closed veranda made of varnished walnut panels and thick beams. But since the day was significantly warmer than the previous ones, Aziraphale had elected to have both the glass doors and the veranda single panel door open to let the warm, fresh air in. 

The two Coleus plants that were hanging from the beam just inside the veranda swayed lazily with the summer breeze coming in. Crowley had found it incredibly entertaining that the plants were, in fact, called Great Falls Angel, which was why she placed them inside. There was a joke there to which Aziraphale had only sipped from her tea and narrowed her eyes at her wife.

She would have offered her help that morning, but the last time they had tried to do a joint plant operation, Aziraphale had ended up cutting the roots of one. Since then, they unanimously decided that it was best for Crowley to have — not quite — unfettered reign over the plants in and around their cottage. Aziraphale reserved the right to visit them and shower them in love which never failed to make Crowley despair. 

The hiss made Aziraphale straighten up and look over the windowsill, eyes zeroing in on her demon. She was favouring her right hand as she got up and came in.

“Cut my thumb,” she said without intonation.

Aziraphale clucked her tongue, coming to inspect the small wound. She looked up, trying to see Crowley’s eyes behind the shades, but to no avail.

“Do you want me to miracle—”

“I was thinking… maybe we could open the first aid kit?” She shrugged.

Aziraphale didn’t quite manage to keep the smile at bay. “Of course, my dear. Come.”

She gently grasped Crowley’s wrist and pulled her inside. The first aid kit lived under the sink in the kitchen; they’d have put it in the bathroom, but Aziraphale found it made more sense to be in the kitchen. She sprayed antiseptic over the wound then took a bandaid and enveloped Crowley’s thumb with it.

They were standing close enough at the counter that Crowley’s front was pressed into Aziraphale’s arm.

“Thanks, angel,” Crowley said and kissed her cheek.

Aziraphale smiled, obviously amused at the situation, and leant in to kiss the corner of her mouth. “You’re welcome.”

It prompted Crowley to hug her, completely melting into her embrace. Aziraphale took all her weight with no effort at all. Truth to be told, she was thrilled whenever Crowley asked for comfort from her, even if she went in such a roundabout way to get it.

“If you wanted a hug, you only needed to ask, darling,” Aziraphale said into her hair.

Crowley hummed. “I know. I just thought it was a good opportunity to use this kit.”

“Do be more careful in the future. You should be wearing garden gloves.”

“Yes, but they’re in the way with certain flowers. Begonias need a delicate touch.”

“Of hand, I’m sure, because the tongue is sharper than a whip.”

Crowley huffed and placed a kiss on her neck. “You know it, angel.”

***

“Let’s go home, angel.” 

Aziraphale looked up at her, finely-pressed dark suit, emphasising everything that was angular and sharp in Crowley, at odds with the plea on her face and in her voice. 

They’d been on their own for the entirety of the day, a decision that both had taken rashly. It had been fueled by an argument that shouldn’t have even taken place, considering that they knew each other’s ins and outs, the limits or lack thereof where Aziraphale always treaded carefully and with utmost respect.

But an argument they had had, each taking refuge in their respective old homes, and looking at Crowley, Aziraphale could not remember what had been so important that it had taken precedence over their own happiness.

She moved her fingers across the book, shifting slightly in her armchair.

“Please,” Crowley added, her face crumbling into something that she had only seen once, not too long ago in a bar.

Aziraphale was out of her chair in a split second, hands grasping her arms as Crowley leant into her. She gathered her demon close, feeling the tremble in her entire body and offering the safety that she had denied out of misplaced feelings of pride.

“I missed you,” Crowley murmurs into her neck, breathing her in, reacquainting herself with Aziraphale’s shape, judging by the way her body kept moving, palms caressing.

“I missed you, too, my dear.” She kissed her temple, keeping her close and feeling the day’s tension leave her body as she, too, sagged into Crowley.

All too soon, Crowley pushed back, but Aziraphale was not ready to let her go, though she didn’t pull her back in. Instead she let Crowley slowly back away. She caught her hand just as it was slipping from within hers.

“Angel?”

Aziraphale bent and kissed the knuckles, just a soft press of lips before she turned Crowley’s hand and breathed softly over the tender skin and placed a kiss to her wrist, looking up. Crowley drew in a sharp breath, freezing to the spot.

“I apologize, my dear,” she whispered, lips grazing her wrist. “I shouldn’t have stormed out the way I did.”

“No!” Crowley jumped, catching Aziraphale’s hand in hers as Aziraphale leant back. “No, you don’t have anything to apologize for. I was at fault there. If I hadn’t—”

“Nonsense, darling. You were right. We should have—”

“No, seriously,” Crowley interrupted earnestly, “we can do it the way you want it. I don’t care. I really don’t.”

Aziraphale stared. “You cannot mean that.”

“I do!”

“Well, I say. You were right about it. I should have listened—”

“No, really, what you suggested works perfectly fine with me. We don’t need to go along—”

“Now, don’t you go and finish that sentence.” Aziraphale frowned at her demon, feeling the atmosphere change around her. “I said you were right.”

Crowley looked and felt as if her bones were in the process of melting into another formation. “But you hated that idea.”

She pressed her lips together before she said, “I spoke hastily and without thinking.”

“But—”

“You were right! Why are you arguing against your own idea?”

“Because you already did!”

They stared at each other, both trying to understand that comment, then Crowley’s face cracked first and Aziraphale’s followed suit, giggling at their silliness.

“Were we really about to argue again over who was right?” Crowley inquired between soft giggles.

“It sounded so.”

Crowley brought Aziraphale’s hand to her lips, placing a small kiss on each knuckle.

“Are you sure?”

“Black walls in our bedroom would look— chic. They would also compliment the red sheets you so love ravishing me on.”

“You like it.”

“I do.”

“What’s wrong with plain white?”

Aziraphale wrinkled her nose. “Too sterile.”

“We could compromise.”

She stared at her for a moment, then she frowned, affronted. “We are not painting our walls grey. Any shade of that. We get enough of that from the climate here.”

“And black’s better?”

Now she smiled the way she did only when she had a mischievous idea.

“If only to see you walk in and light up the room, yes.”

It took Crowley three seconds to connect the dots, and Aziraphale knew this to be true because the usual pallor of her cheeks changed that fast.

“You— you just— did you just—”

She leant in and placed a quick kiss on her lips, no doubt the flavour of bastard.

“Let’s go home, my dear. Our newly painted bedroom awaits a christening.”

Aziraphale laughed all the way to the Bentley as Crowley suddenly rushed her out, snapping her fingers in an exaggerated manner to lock up the shop. 

***

There were floral motifs that hid snakes within their petals as well as butterflies that had angel wings on their red organza curtains. The sun filtering through them gave the black walls a certain surreal look. Like Aziraphale had toppled into a different dimension. Her first thought was to open the rest of her eyes and _look,_ but then she realized that they couldn’t have slipped into another dimension— although the lovemaking following their return home had been nothing short of out of that world.

She shifted and Crowley shifted on top of her, a soft sound finding its way out from her nose followed by a long sigh. Aziraphale smiled fondly and pressed a kiss to her hair, arms enveloping her dear serpent.

Certainly the night had been young enough to allow for many horizontal _exercises_ and a few vertical ones. They were definitely trying the naga form again with all the whistles and bells — or bells and whistles as Crowley corrected her. She sighed contentedly, feeling the ache in her thighs and abdomen which she hadn’t miracled away, and Crowley shifted again, groaning softly before she placed a kiss on Aziraphale’s chest.

“Morning, angel,” she croaked, her eyes still closed, even as her lips made their way up her neck, then jaw.

“Good morning, darling. It looks to be a fine morning.” She moved her head just enough to interrupt Crowley’s pilgrimage and offer the prize already.

They both melted into the kiss for a very long time. Perks of not needing to breathe. Aziraphale thrilled at feeling her wife’s body move across hers as if she couldn’t quite help herself. She wore a pajama cami top and comfortable knickers while Crowley only had a long sleeveless shirt that stopped mid-thigh.

Hands wandered and Aziraphale smiled into the kiss, which ultimately was what made Crowley stop and lean back to look at her.

“Do you know what would make this morning even better, my dear? Chocolate.”

“Chocolate for breakfast, angel?”

“Well, surely there is no rule against it, is there?”

Crowley chuckled even as the tip of her fingers left goosebumps behind on Aziraphale’s thigh, dragging the dainty camisole up over her knickers. They got replaced by Crowley’s palm, warm and kneading at her fleshy hip, little finger dipping beneath the seam of her knickers.

Such a tease. She soon lifted that hand to snap her fingers. An open box of chocolate appeared by Aziraphale’s side on top of the dishevelled covers, which prompted her to sit up and select a truffle.

She moaned in delight as she bit into it, the smoothness of the insides coupled with the chocolate powder on top eliciting Aziraphale’s most lascivious sounds. And she was doing that half on purpose. The truffles were that good, but the way Crowley watched her, as if she was both drunk on and famished for Aziraphale, sent a thrill down her spine which pooled heavy and warm in her stomach.

“Would you care for one, my dear? They’re delicious.”

Crowley didn’t answer. She leant in, lips wrapping around Aziraphale’s fingers and teeth grazing lightly against them as she took the other half. All the while she didn’t take her eyes off Aziraphale because the angel in the house might be able to bring down the wrath of Heaven on anyone wanting to harm Crowley and rile her demon up in the most dramatic and exquisite of ways, but there was something to be said about the temptation that Crowley presented. 

If Aziraphale sounded like temptation in a church — forbidden to look at, but arousing to hear — then Crowley’s very existence unravelled Aziraphale much like her thousand eyes could unravel the universe and all its secrets. Blood rushed to Aziraphale’s head, fighting with the growing hunger within.

“Mm, indeed,” Crowley said, tongue licking the powder from her lips, “you are delicious.”

Aziraphale smiled, delighted, and caught Crowley’s face between her hands so she could place soft kisses along her cheekbones and forehead, down the bridge of her nose and her chin, up the line of her jaw, beneath her ear, on top of her eyelids.

Crowley’s hands were clenched tightly in her cami, grasping at her hips because the darling was not daring to breathe or move in any way. When she leant back and Crowley opened her eyes, Aziraphale smiled.

“I adore you, my darling.”

“That’s my line,” Crowley whispered, her fists relaxing, expression shifting between undiluted adoration and awe.

From the perspective of anyone else — except, perhaps, the Almighty Herself — this would look quite blasphemous. A demon worshipping at the altar of an angel? An angel accepting and offering the same devotion upon the demon’s altar?

But Aziraphale only saw power in this, in Crowley. She was powerful in her adoration, just as Aziraphale felt empowered by it and by the love she felt for her demon. 

Then Crowley’s wicked smile appeared. “Angel, you’re gon’ get it!”

She giggled madly as Crowley toppled her back on the pillows and proceeded to kiss her everywhere she could reach.

Indeed, such a fine morning.

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was: Life in the South Downs cottage after the not-pocalypse; general fluff/wives being in love; exploring different levels of their relationship (emotionally or physically)
> 
> Hope I did it justice!


End file.
